The Cathartic Takedown of Baby-Men on ‘The Crown’ And ‘The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’

Behind every powerful woman is a man whining, “What about me?” This year, female-led content spiked in both quantity and quality. But while powerful, strong-willed women graced our screens, another batch of characters forcefully inserted themselves into our narratives: Baby-men.

Baby-men are whiney, weak, and mediocre dudes. Their masculinity is so fragile that it can shatter at the nimble nudge of a manicured lady-hand. For as long as they’ve breathed our air, baby-men have been fed the notion that they’re special and deserve certain things. But when they witness women in their lives usurp this inherent patriarchal power, they break. Luckily, our heroines always set these brats straight, and given the current political climate and the president’s daily barrage of chauvinism, it’s cathartic to watch.

Baby-men aren’t new, but they’re certainly having a moment. Amy Sherman-Palladino’s latest romp, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, was released on Amazon in November. Set in 1958, the show stars Rachel Brosnahan as the titular Mrs. Maisel, or “Midge.” In the first episode, Midge marries Joel Maisel, a businessman who moonlights as an untalented stand-up comic. Right off the bat, it’s clear Midge is better than her husband in every sense; she takes care of him, makes sure his life runs smooth like Teflon, takes notes during every set he performs, is magnetic, and is universally loved by their neighbors.

Despite her brilliance, Joel gets restless and frustrated by his average life and his wife’s gift of gab. He leaves her, and thus begins our heroine’s expedition as a trailblazing female comedian. Joel consistently embarrasses himself with his own mediocrity, most notably when we find out he’s been stealing his set from Bob Newhart. Upon being smacked in the face with the gutting realization that his wife—who’s just a girl and not a big, strong man—is wittier, stronger, and more adored than he is, Joel crumbles. He sinks into a toxic pit of his own self-pity, jealousy and insignificance. Everything about Joel’s character is ordinary; even his character isn’t new or noteworthy—we’ve seen him before, and very recently.

The king of all baby-men—or rather, the Duke—is Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh on The Crown. In the first season, Elizabeth marries the boyish and flirtatious Phillip, a wealthy, untamable suitor. After her coronation, he quickly devolves into fits of petty lash-outs. He can’t stand that a woman is ranked higher than he, both in their relationship and in society.

This season, which was released on Netflix December 8th, we see Phillip grow into the truculent, defiant, childish man we knew he was capable of becoming. Just as Midge rose from Joel’s ashes, Phillip’s toxic masculinity swallows him whole while Elizabeth simultaneously grows more graceful and powerful. At one point, Elizabeth states the things he must change to make their marriage work, namely, “Your complaining. It’s incessant; whining and whingeing like a child.” His even moans about being outranked by his 8-year old son, to which Elizabeth rationally reminds him, “Yes of course, he’s the heir to the throne.”

Like Phillip, most baby-men are lost. Phillip doesn’t know who he is or where he fits into a world where he has no inherent power. In Netflix’s GLOW, this familiar trait manifests in Bash, the lazy, twenty-something, trust-fund producer who has no real experience producing. He, too, has trouble finding his place as an negligible sidepiece in the world of mighty female wrestlers. In Game of Thrones, almost every storyline involves a strong woman and her foil baby-man, like Theon Greyjoy and his sister Yara, who he resents because she’s more respected than he is, or the indignant Viserys Targaryen with his fierce sister Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons.

Glancing back, wherever there has been a female protagonist, there’s always been a baby-man flailing nearby. Like Xander Harris from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the OG baby-man and Buffy’s less-than-average best friend who feels constantly affronted by her physical strength. She never needs his protection, but he’s been socially conditioned to believe a man must protect a woman, or he’s no man at all. Each time she saves him, he dissolves into a shell of fragility, slut-shaming her or throwing a tantrum unrelated to the real issue, which is that her power makes him feel small. In the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm (and the original series), the plight of the baby-man transcends gender when Larry David harasses various marginalized people in an aggrieved refusal to accept them as equals.

If you’re noticing a pattern here, yes, these men are almost always white. Because they come from a place of privilege in both race and gender, these men feel shafted by a patriarchal system that has failed to produce the results they were promised. Of course, they’re based in cringe-worthy reality, and are uncomfortably reminiscent of Donald Trump’s Large Adult Sons, a descriptor referencing how Eric and Donald Trump Jr. Trump’s sons are infantilized by the media and given outlandish leeway in their immature behaviors, despite the fact that they’re grown men.

Because they’re a little too close to home, these storylines are infuriating to watch. Whether it’s a Twitter troll, a family member, or a disgruntled ex-boyfriend, we all know a pouty Large Adult Son. Baby-men are so used to benefitting from institutionalized sexism and racism that they interpret another’s gain as their own loss, so when women rise to power, they feel oppressed. There’s a reason women feel warm and tingly while watching shows like The Crown or The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel; it’s soothing to watch strong, female protagonists quash baby-men. Their refusal to be stained by mediocre men who wish to topple them is empowering.

To the men following along, I’d offer the following advice: Just because you’re not the star doesn’t mean you’re invisible. Women have existed as secondary and tertiary characters in society for centuries, so chill. Whether fictional or IRL, powerful women will push us forward, and that’s something worth taking the sideline for. In the words of Kendrick Lamar, it’s ok to “sit down, be humble.”

Jill Gutowitz is a haunted pair of overalls / writer living in Los Angeles. Follow her on Twitter: @jillboard.